


The Doppler Effect

by ObscureBlueprint



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Hurt John Watson, M/M, Mentioned Mary Morstan, Post-Reichenbach, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 06:21:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30118512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObscureBlueprint/pseuds/ObscureBlueprint
Summary: Sherlock Holmes returns home, only to hear John Watson's screams of terror that he vowed to put it behind him.
Relationships: Mary Morstan/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Kudos: 17





	The Doppler Effect

Sherlock assumed John would've moved on. After all, that proved to be the only plausible explanation. The world waited so little for the detective's slow feet to catch up and deep down, the man had a hopeful heart that his only friend in the world might wait for his pace. It had been two long, laborious years of grifting, drinking and other reckless habits that Sherlock wanted to move on from. After being confronted by a rather concerned Mycroft, he promised to halt the final puzzle pieces and visit John Watson while he was at it. 

Mycroft suggested an otherwise plan to have a friendly conversation with his "pal" at a much later stage. His unspoken words painted a clear picture of his friend's struggle with grief, and it would be unwise to pop into his life without giving him some time to digress. Mycroft promised to drop a few hints during their fish-and-chip conversations, just to portray a hopeful picture for John to look at and have Sherlock seamlessly slide into his life for the second time. 

Unfortunately, Sherlock was rather impatient. One could easily assume he was rather infatuated with the doctor thanks to their many interactions during past investigations. It wasn't the fact that the detective had taken a certain liking to his blogger, who probably was the only commoner who could tolerate the man's erratic behaviors, apart from the men and women at the Yard. 

The secret that his mind had carried for a long time was broiling his insides like freshly cooked bacon over a flame. It wasn't Sherlock's natural response to react to sentiment or project himself in a caring way, but it was directed towards John Watson, a man of brilliance and patience. He would always have room for exceptions in John's case. Otherwise he wouldn't mind snapping off on people and leaving them on hold. 

Sherlock was told John often paid small visits to the park. Unbeknownst to him, he didn't realize his partner had completely moved on from him. The thought of that had its own magnetic strength to lure Sherlock into a whirlwind of emotions he presumed he was immune to. The astronomical power the trembling boy in him controlled was enough to apprehend Sherlock to question his own skills, no matter how soothing John's compliments were.

The park was wonderful, as if a blanket of serenity had dropped over London after he had left. John must've led a brilliant life after the Fall after being radiated with the city's confidence. As much as Sherlock fretted about peace, he was glad to see his partner accommodating to his requirements. The birds chirped an unfriendly tune as he walked in and a few heads turned to greet the raven haired man, not for his excellence or the legacy he had left behind for all of London to see, but for his disastrous taste in clothing compared to the joggers' casual attires. 

Sherlock's eyes searched for John, despite having a repository of knowledge stored deep inside his head. The world glitched before him and he couldn't help but comply with the environmental standards. People talked too much and Sherlock didn't want to risk his chances. He wanted to be as aloof as possible and take a good look at John and approach him without erecting his guards. 

And there he was. Just as Mycroft had predicted. Next to a blonde haired woman and nervously fiddling something inside his coat pocket.  _ A ring.  _ He had been trying for a while and unfortunately, his crude thoughts pulled him down which caused the hesitation trembling in his eyes. Sherlock stood afar, waiting for John to make a move while examining his pleasant features.

The mustache that stood out prominently made him look like an old man from the war who rarely gave toothy grins. His blonde hair was lathered with copious amounts of gel. Thankfully he remained consistent in his fashion sense, with the leather jacket and the plaid shirt matching with the dark blue trousers he wore. Not exactly a perfect outfit to propose in, but the sentiment would be able to carry the weight to complete the equation. 

_ Sherlock.. you've been gone for too long.  _ He heard John's words that reverberated back and forth in his ear canal.  _ Two years, Sherlock. Two years. You never listened. I longed to hear a word from you.  _

John was smiling at a distance as he conversed with the blonde woman rapidly. He seemed to be rather ecstatic with currencies of energy pumping through his veins which had yearned for someone to fill the gap Sherlock had left in him. It would be absurd to think the army doctor would invite him to take his place, like it hadn't affected him the past few years, probably taking the blame for his friend's passing. 

_ I had to introduce myself as a friendless man seeking sympathy. I never felt so vulnerable, ever, Sherlock. I hope you know how much I owe you. I used to be alone, far too much for a sociable man with deep connections in the army.  _ John continued. 

The woman had no idea. She sat, listening to her future husband, adding in a few comments of her own to spice up the conversation they had. Occasionally John's hands would drift to the pocket. It wouldn't take long for him to pull the box out and pop the question, especially for a man who had no problem in killing vicious taxi drivers with a personality. 

_ Why? Why would you lie? I'm perfectly capable of protecting myself if Moriarty's men ever show up. I can never fully leave the battlefield. I still have a few morsels of strength in me to cope.  _

Sherlock turned away, leaving John and the woman to their undisturbed discussion. He disappeared into the streets of London, making his way down the road and often gazing around like a lost child after being asphyxiated by whatever life spat at his doorstep. He firmly stopped at a point on the road and looked at Bart's, basking in the memories from the years prior and how the stains of blood never left the pavement as an eternal piece of memory for the commoners to hold onto, if they cared so much about a detective in a funny hat enough to join a fanclub Anderson had started. 

Sherlock was well informed about the happenings back at home. It wasn't enough to help him face the music once he landed from the corners of the world he had been to. The man could almost imagine, giving into his creativity for a bit, to fully understand how rapid John's thoughts must've been to fathom Sherlock's "suicide" and how the aftermath would've injected him with paralyzing poison. 

_ Why, Sherlock? Was I untrustworthy? After all we've been through? After all that I did. I welcomed you in, something the others didn't. You could've shown gratitude and I would've gotten my answer. The silence kills, Sherlock. It really does.  _

"Well, what am I supposed to do?" Sherlock snapped audibly to entertain the looks of a few passer-by's, "You chose this life."

_ I was not informed. I don't have the brains of a detective to "deduce" things from nothing. I can't be a Creator, Sherlock. I can only protect what you entrusted me with, to the best of my abilities. A man with such remarkable wits like you should've known that by know.  _

"Of course I know. A Protector like yourself should have been considerate enough to understand my reasons." Sherlock continued. 

_ Oh, of course. If you did expect me to understand, why did you hesitate to approach me in the park? Why did you wait and leave? You've known me for a while and you've known my whereabouts and what I'm upto. Why the wait? Why couldn't you walk in and strike up a conversation? _

"You were busy--" Sherlock gritted his teeth. 

_ I doubt so. I doubt the great Sherlock Holmes has any regard for a person's availability.  _

_ Now it's too late.  _

"Late? For what?" Sherlock asked. 

_ It's late. I've grieved you for a long time. You can't expect the both of us to resume what we left off.  _

"Define "grieved". Nobody grieves for me. They assume I'm not as worthy of funerary services and other honorary things as they are. Nobody did."

The screams stopped. Sherlock sighed deeply, before carrying on with his life. Perhaps one day, he'd get to tell him the real textbook truth. Until then, he had to consider leaving John behind and move on, like he did.  Thankfully for the hungry tabloids, Sherlock Holmes never truly gave up on John Watson, the truest of all men who kept him right all along. He would try and fail and hopefully one day, he'll get it right. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading.


End file.
